Best Good Soul Poems
At Last we Pause
For: Robert Allen Wise
And at last we pause on dirty streets,
At somber rest with eternal peace.
A moment’s sleep on Satan's floor
With a constant dream of heaven’s door
The cry of battle has embrace its death
As vengeance draws its last breath
One good soul ascends abyss
Into the portal of eternal bliss.
A majestic voice said you may pass
A warriors shadow you have cast
The restless night that you have slain
Creates the dawn that you regain.
So dream no more of battles past
And awaken from your daunting task
This day of memory we give to you
My embattled brother with life anew.
SFC Alva E. Brown (ret)
In general, society as a whole
Each has a good heart, Each has a good soul
It is the government that changes the poll
They don’t want acceptance, they want control
They fuel the fire of discontent
Change the message that is sent
Teach us on each other we can vent
Lie to the people they represent
They wish to control what we eat and drink
They wish to control the way we think
They build us up to watch us sink
Keeping our emotions at the brink
They endorse the hatred, they endorse the fights
They manipulate our civil rights
On our real leaders they set their sights
Stopping those who would take us to greater heights
Think for yourself, they can’t control you
They can’t control what you say or do
If you believe their lies, you’ll become their robots too
Let freedom ring for all, not just for a few
Love for your neighbor is what history demands
It will take the control out of their hands
There will be peace and joy in all of the lands
They will no longer control with their commands.
The roses are the best at the tree
The eyes on them rejoice
Gather the iris spree
Say Aah with the glee in the voice
When from the branches quite high
Someone plucks a few and then leaves
In a bunch on a tray on the sly
A little irritation under the sleeves
What I am not inclined to do for myself
A sky like attitude is doing that for me
Somewhat hesitantly I see it there on the shelf
But then on the flower there is also a bee
Out of the pink a heart incognito
The molecules of the love-laden mind
Rejoicing at the fact that I cannot say no
To the Premium membership and does it hiding behind
You are a good soul whoever you are
Though the difference doesn't matter much for me
In the harsh daylight you are in the hidden stars
Thank you for the cup of tea
April 12, 2018
I've crawled to the edge of my own darkness,
and I only wanted a small taste I swear;
And I heard the prophets of the ages screaming,
There's just no coming back from there;
But they were my own unexplained poor choices,
to gaze into the chasm far beyond;
For I had to be illuminated in blackness,
Long before my light could ever shine on.
I danced daily with my own demons,
until the harvest moonlight died;
And I saw the Angels turn their backs on me,
Yes, I swear I heard them cry;
But I think they knew deep down inside,
That I would be back before too long;
They knew I had to be illuminated in blackness,
Long before my light could ever shine on.
There's that little part in every good soul,
that wanders where he should not go;
And a very patient loving God,
just smiles and lets us go;
Until we come crawling back into the light,
And realize it's where we always belonged;
But we must be illuminated in the blackness,
Before our light will ever shine on.
Carl A Fraser
A dull-looking scuffed up ebony toolbox full of pure happiness,
Sat in the back of Charley’s old green Chevy pick-up truck,
Waiting for him to drink his three cups of coffee.
“Another adventure!” the wrench said to the clamps.
The tools knew that Charley would be using them today for sure.
He had thrown a tarp, some paint cans, and his can of nails in last night.
They were eager to get started, happy to see what they would be building.
“Here he comes!” the hammer said. “Silence!” There was instant compliance.
The tools shook with exuberance, feeling today’s adventure.
Would they be building a window seat, porch, deck? Someone’s park bench?
“SHHHH!” the pliers cautioned them. “He is getting in!”
Charley had no idea they were aware he was lifting souls
One project at a time. A simple carpenter, with a good soul…
Open a page of this untold story
No regrets, no need to say sorry
Broken hearts are unsolved mysteries
Better unsaid and left as history
Bring out the good soul in me
Chase away all bad thoughts I see
Fill up my glass with intimacy
Keep me drunk but sober equally
Let me drown in love, hate and confusions
Never try to save me, from all of Eros's illusions
His message to Mankind was divine love, much louder than
the desert wind hissing through the tall palm trees;
they heard Him, but sadly contempt built up when
they defiled the Temple by selling and trading instead of praying on their knees...
so Jesus got the whip and the lame and the blind cried out the word, " Hosanna! "
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Christ was the faithful servant who was scourged, derided and crucified,
now, is the friend of all who believe in Him, not in a sinful world....
the Redeemer who carried the heavy cross to Calvary and died;
His resurrection was a victory over death making Him the eternal Lord!
Who besides Him is more worthy of God His Father, are we?
Anytime Jesus prayed, He finished that prayer with this holy word, " Hosanna! "
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Nothing has changed...it was an unjust and mean world, and so it will be;
they lived for lust, power and money getting greedier than Judas who chose death;
find that good soul that resembles Jesus...is it that poor man who seeks mercy?
We can gather much gold, make him a crown and place it on his bruised head!
And while he sits there waiting for compassion, his feeble voice proclaims," Hosanna! "
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
All nations strive for supremacy, making useless and massive weapons so destructive,
they have no love for their neighbors...they hate peace and every beautiful place;
we have made it to this century...will others see a tomorrow not dark and delusive?
Pray like Jesus did and put your fate in the hands of the Almighty who's grace!
No joy or possession is greater than faith...get up, look up and shout, " Hosanna! "
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
I love you, my dear, I dont want miss you
becouse devoted to Europe and Freedom
Its so simple to get it -
even beauty and good soul and kind temper originated from free society and state. About this great truth
very well informed
every Latvian citizen and free nations
from Estony to Singapore and Uganda
and could not to get it at all
so many people in Central Asia
poisoned by propaganda.?
The judge sent me to spend ten years in jail,
After a sweet talking lawyer saved my tail,
The wind which blows the soul of men from grave to grave,
Told me of your messages and reminded me of the pleasure we had those days,
They called me nuts and said that they were all in my head,
Especially the psychologist whose wife cried of loneliness every night in bed.
I am a tall mean looking woman these days,
With little hair and a haggard face,
I'm thinner than when we met,
Broken by life, broken by death.
They released me from jail today,
And I thought it worthy to come to your grave today,
So here I am Sweet Elizabeth,
This pen in my hand,
This knife at bay,
Hoping to join the band of holy and unholy men,
That will be taken by death today.
I hope to see you today,
Maybe in heaven or maybe in hell,
That's why I kneel besides your grave,
That's why I've made this choice so brave.
There are a thousand ways to write a poem,
A million ways to kill a man,
A billion ways to show that you are waiting,
A trillion ways to tell that a good soul is dead,
But on that day you left,
I stood there a soul bereft,
Waiting, yet knowing that you're dead.
I loved you more than Shakespeare loved the theatre,
More than Tesla loved to tinker,
More than Einstein loved his head,
More than America hated the Nazis,
Till they said that I was mad,
Till I killed the driver who took you to hell,
Till they took me to jail,
Till heaven came and went.
But love is never enough they say,
Not enough to feed or clothe your radiant beauty like summer's day,
Never enough to stop the claws of death,
Never enough to heal the madness of a tortured soul,
Never enough to stop this pain.
I'll be lying beside your grave,
As you lay on my hands that day,
The sands will soak my blood,
As my clothes soaked yours,
You'll see me in pain,
As I saw yours that fateful day,
You will hear my mourning,
You will feel the writhing of my body atop your grave,
You will hear my soul going with the wind,
You will hear the willows blowing in the wind,
And not even your tears which I hear in my head every day will convince me to stay,
Till the wind blows down a thousand willows,
For if the wind blows a thousand willows,
Then I'll be dead,
I'll be holding you in the darkness,
Kissing your every being...My sweet Elizabeth.
Paris is not an abstraction
Paris is more than my tea
Paris is now one theory
where I hold back my cry
because its heaven is not me
just a self-control
good soul
Heroism dwells not in mind but acts;
Show me your hero of resolve and will,
Not yield by tragedy or a great name;
But an honest worker that shoves courage.
Don’t be rash telling me your ill motives.
Hero is neither money, guns nor wits;
A hero can heal an unhappy land.
He creates, defends, and sustains morals;
Heroism is produced by good soul.
A hero is an ordinary man.
He rebels against those repulsive souls;
Doubts and weakness may consume his desire,
But perseverance falters not his goal.
Arising from defeat, he scours triumph;
We are heroes of our life story.
by Mark "Makmak" Enem
She toke her time with love
And laid every nice sheet for her friends to lay on it
Nicely, forgetting that she is a human
She makes mistake
She’s not perfect
Then she toke her pain up
And left with it, leaving up nothing
Making love
Making babies, were there’s no money
And poverty was so romantic
Her good soul stood up strong,
Strength of a woman grew in her
Strength of a mother
Enough to raise a village
Only sixteen in her bosoms
A girl
A little sister most importantly a mother
Winds blowing
Mist falling, autumn falling summer
Spring, springing not
Felt every pain
Felt every thoughts
Felt every words
She was just a girl
A teenage love affair
A puberty
A period
A pain
HER LEGACY:from chapter//POETRY & BLUES
................................................................................................................
POETRY AND BLUES is emotionally capturing depth of love in true characteristic of love embodiments, hence its roots. True told love stories in poetic form and love crime, love tragedy, love and love. Shakespearean is love, he defines it; poetry and blues.
Greed Wins
Fate fetched them crushed in a crash, faint in hopes
broken limbs, sober spirit, side by side
One by the window, the other beside .
They lay in room pale blue, chlorine chores.
Months together, movements knelled, they lay forth,
new found friends , out ‘a window small, one pried,
Mouthed beauties there, to keep his pal’s smile bright
Other but heard, prayed, at this fortune swore,
His pal be slain, he be blessed with sights
outside. Lo! Next dark day snatched the good soul
The lone peer blessed. Soon, he sent his eyes
Outdoors, on an old bleak wall, nothing more
Drained in spirit he cursed his greed wry
“Beautifully lied ...he kept me alive”
Italian Sonnet, pentameter,rhyme scheme abbaabba cdcd bb
Mehnaz Veetil
Not looking for grace, cause I never gave any
Sins? My face oh it shows so many
To be forgiven, I'm not gonna ask for it
A good soul I might just pass for it.
My days of ill will, have been downed with a kill
Despair is done,I done had my fill
A new day has come and it took so much time
That it defines a new rhyme, and it's entirely mine
A new mind and different way thinking
A new attitude that isn't freaking stinking
I'm done with the evil, this world has had enough
Of demons and darkside, we're full, far too stuffed
Enough of the rough stuff, trying to fill my heart
A revamp, a restart, a reboot of the heart
A new day and a new way, the way that I should
Instead of can't, or I won't, I say I did what I could.
For hundreds of years, I've been alone,
Alone in this cold world,
Filled with misery and brutality,
With every century that passes by,
The world seems to get worse
I sit under a tree,
Thinking about this world,
Will this century be better?
Then a figure is seen from a far
With every step it took it became clear
It came nearer becoming clearer,
Gosh! It was a beautiful woman,
Her hips swayed as she walked,
She looked like a good soul
But was her inner self good?
A lad walked briskly beside her,
Pleading for a coin,
To feed himself and mother,
The woman angrily looked at him,
And spat at his rusty old cup
The beautiful woman became ugly,
Kicking and spitting at the lad,
I couldn't believe that this was the woman I admired,
This century was also the same,
Maybe this world would never change,